


Morning After

by Trumpeteer34



Series: Wing!Fic AU [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Hulkeye - Freeform, M/M, Massage, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Wingfic, Wings, this is disgustingly fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 03:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trumpeteer34/pseuds/Trumpeteer34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Wing!fic - Clint's arms turn into wings. Takes place immediately after "Aerials."</p>
<p>Clint and Bruce wake up and spend the morning together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the named characters present. They belong to Marvel. This was written purely for fun.

It was a little strange, sharing a bed before sharing a kiss, but Clint wasn’t complaining. The main reason for that was probably due to the giddy feeling that went through him when he woke up with Bruce in his arms. The man was almost unnaturally warm, his body radiating heat that would drive out any chill, had there been a chill in the room. Clint actually quite liked the warmth and drew the sleeping man a little closer.

Something tickled his nose, and Clint scrunched his eyes more tightly shut before he finally allowed his eyelids to flutter open. It took him a moment to realize that a stray curl of greying-brown hair was swaying back and forth each time Clint inhaled and exhaled.

They had somehow gravitated more toward one another during the duration of the night. The archer was now lying on his back somewhere toward the middle of the bed, the covers pushed down so his arms were free to move in the open air. 

Well, _one_ of his arms was free to move in the open air. His other arm was both pinned and wrapped around Bruce, who was curled up on his side against Clint. The man’s head was resting on Clint’s shoulder, tucked just right so that Clint’s lips brushed against the crown of his head. The archer’s hand was lying happily on the back of the shoulder that wasn’t pressed against the mattress, like it belonged there.

Clint stared at his hand for a long time, fingers drumming a light pattern against Bruce’s t-shirt, before he glanced down at where Bruce’s hand was lying on his chest. The appendage in question was relaxed just below Clint’s clavicle with the rest of his arm resting across Clint’s chest and stomach. He could feel one of Bruce’s legs thrown casually over one of Clint’s and resting on the mattress.

Each breath Clint took made Bruce’s arm rise and fall on his chest and the hair against his chin dance lightly with each exhale. With the angle they were in, Clint couldn’t see Bruce’s face, but he knew without a doubt that the man was still sleeping deeply. He wondered absently how long he had been asleep, but that thought was instantly set aside when Bruce curled a little more into Clint’s side with a sleepy and unintelligible mumble.

The archer smiled and decided it wasn’t important. He pressed his lips against Bruce’s hair in a light kiss. When he felt Bruce’s smile against his chest, another rush of contentedness warmed him, and Clint’s eyes drifted shut once more.

==

The next time he awoke was only an hour or two later. It took him a moment to figure out why he had woken up, but he understood when he felt Bruce’s head move just slightly, pressing a little more firmly into his shoulder. 

Clint grinned and moved his chin so it was nestled in Bruce’s hair again. “G’mornin’,” he said softly, his voice rumbling and low with sleep.

Something that sounded vaguely like a drowsy greeting drifted to Clint’s ears, but it was muffled by both sleep and the archer’s shirt. Clint chuckled softly and let the hand resting on the physicist move into Bruce’s hair to play with his curls.

“You’re not much of a morning person,” the archer observed, but he was still smiling.

“Shh…it’s still dark enough to pretend it’s not morning,” Bruce mumbled, his voice just on the wrong side of rough.

“I think that’s probably because JARVIS hasn’t changed the window settings yet,” Clint pointed out. “I’m sure the sun has been up for a while now.”

_“Quite right,”_ the AI spoke up, though he sounded much quieter for some reason. _“The time is eleven thirty-seven AM and the skies are to remain cloudless until the mid-afternoon.”_

Clint frowned slightly at that last tidbit of information, and then glanced between the still-darkened windows and down towards where Bruce’s face was still pressed into his shoulder. Suddenly, it clicked. “Does Hulking out give you headaches?” he asked.

“Over-heightened senses,” Bruce corrected without lifting his head. “It’s not every time, but sunlight and I don’t get along too well on the morning after a transformation.” The physicist slowly rolled over onto his back. Clint’s eyes were locked on his face, and despite the mask of indifference Bruce had tried to put up, the archer easily saw that the man was still in pain.

Once he was settled, Bruce glanced over at Clint with drowsy eyes and smiled. “I didn’t think I’d see you when I woke up,” he admitted.

“Why’s that?” Clint asked as he moved onto his side and curled against Bruce, their positions flipped. “You’re really comfortable, and ridiculously warm.”

As his fingers sneaked their way back up into Bruce’s hair, the physicist chuckled softly. “You’re pretty comfortable yourself,” Bruce replied. His eyes slipped shut as Clint began to play with his curls again. “I just figured you’d have been up and moving by now.”

Clint continued to watch Bruce’s face as he let his fingers fiddle absentmindedly with one of the curls before they dipped back in to trace lightly through the rest of his hair. “I was pretty tired, too, you know,” he reminded the other man. “ _Tuckered out_ is how you put it.” He grinned at the small smile that started to tug on Bruce’s lips at that. 

They stayed like that for a few minutes, just soaking in the presence of the other in the calm hush of morning. The archer could feel Bruce’s breathing evening out again and knew without a doubt that, if given the opportunity, Bruce would probably fall back asleep. 

Clint blinked out of the doze he was starting to slip into and lifted his head off of Bruce’s shoulder. “Hungry?” he asked, trying to fight the grin that wanted to appear as the physicist’s eyes slowly fluttered open.

Without lifting his head from the pillow, Bruce glanced down at him. The smile that appeared across his face was fond, but tired. “I could eat,” he replied.

“I can fix us something,” Clint offered. “Meet me up in my apartment?” He raised his eyebrows into an expression of hopeful innocence.

He felt Bruce’s chuckle before he heard it. “Let me shower, and then I’ll be up,” the physicist answered.

Clint smiled bright in response, but then neither of them made any effort to get out of bed. 

“Then again,” Bruce said after a few moments of comfortable silence, yawning into his fist, “I’m not sure I want to get up just yet.”

“If you don’t get up, you’re not getting breakfast,” Clint replied. He then made an example of himself by finally extracting his body from beneath the blankets. He was almost overwhelmed by the desire to curl back up into Bruce’s warmth, but he resisted. 

As Clint finally lifted himself off of the mattress to collect the boots he had kicked off last night, he could feel Bruce’s eyes following him. The physicist stretched against the mattress, setting off a series of cracks and pops all throughout the man’s back. “You do realize,” Bruce began, sagging back into the mattress in semi-relief, “that I can just as easily make my own breakfast.”

Clint paused in lacing his boot to shoot a pout over at the man, bottom lip jutted out.

Another soft laugh escaped from the physicist before Bruce carefully pushed himself up into a seated position, biting back a groan when his overtaxed muscles protested. He must have seen a look of concern appear on Clint’s face, for Bruce smiled again. “I’ll be there,” he promised. “Just let me shower first.”

“Will that help?” Clint asked, gesturing weakly at Bruce’s body.

“Always does,” Bruce answered, and then his smile transformed into a grin. “You could do with one yourself; your hair is a mess.”

A huff of laughter escaped from Clint. “You’re one to talk,” he shot back, coming over to ruffle the man’s mess of curls gently. “Half an hour?” 

Bruce ducked his head to escape from Clint’s hand, still grinning. “Half an hour,” he agreed.

==

Clint popped up to the communal floor first before he returned to his own suite. He grabbed the ingredients for an omelet that he had made for Bruce before, a few weeks back, which the man had enjoyed. Before slipping out of the kitchen, he snagged the canister of loose-leaf tea that Bruce had recently bought, along with the infuser.

On his way back to the elevator, he bumped into Natasha. Her eyes did a quick survey of the state of his hair, then of the ingredients in his arms, and finally his face. “You two have fun last night?” she asked smoothly.

An easy grin spread across Clint’s face. “We slept together,” he answered. When she quirked an eyebrow, he rolled his eyes. “I mean that literally, Tasha. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a breakfast to make.”

“You’re making him breakfast?” the redhead inquired, a small smile touching her lips.

“I have before,” Clint replied, grinning fully at her once more before he stepped into the elevator. “Don’t you dare say anything to anyone!” he called back to her.

“Like I need to say anything for the rest of the team to find out,” Natasha scoffed as the elevator doors started to close. “You were practically shouting it from the rooftops yesterday.”

“Don’t tell anyone!” Clint yelled back just as the doors slid shut, but he was grinning. 

==

By the time Bruce knocked on his door twenty-some minutes later, Clint had the omelet about half-cooked. There was a fresh pot of coffee and a kettle of hot water on the stove, ready to be poured into the mug Bruce always used when he stopped by Clint’s floor. He had taken a quick shower and thrown on a muscle shirt and jeans before he had started breakfast.

After taking a step back from the stove, Clint ran a hand through his still-damp hair and glanced at the opening door to his suite. They had moved past waiting to be granted entrance when the other expected company a long time ago, and smile immediately spread across his face as Bruce stepped inside. 

The man did look a little better after his shower; he wasn’t moving as stiffly as he had in bed that morning, but Clint’s ever-perceptive eyes easily caught the tension held in the man’s shoulders. His eyes then swiftly roved over the rest of Bruce’s body, taking a note of how much he liked to see the physicist in that deep purple button-down shirt of his.

He cleared his throat and returned his attention to the stove before he could get too distracted. “Feeling better?” he asked.

“Much, thanks,” Bruce answered as he stepped lightly into the kitchen. He took a quick survey of the room. “Need any help?”

“Nah,” Clint replied. He nodded toward where the hot water was. “You can go ahead and start making your tea. This should be done here shortly.”

Bruce made a humming sound, but didn’t say anything. He moved further into the kitchen toward where the water was. As he passed behind the archer, he laid a warm hand against Clint’s back. 

The touch seemed almost hesitant, but Clint couldn’t fight the smile that rose to his lips in result. He grinned over at Bruce, who relaxed and smiled back before he went about making his tea.

Breakfast was a casual affair. They had eaten together before, and they had cooked for each other plenty of times in the past, so nothing felt awkward about sharing a meal with one another. 

Before Bruce could make the offer to do the dishes, Clint stood up and grabbed Bruce’s empty mug. He poured the man some more tea and set it down in front of Bruce.

The physicist started to thank him, but immediately paused when he felt Clint’s hands land gently on his shoulders. “Clint?” he asked, quickly tensing up.

“Relax,” the archer replied softly as he began to gently massage the rock-hard muscles beneath his fingers. He went through a few of the movements he would go through to ease a sore muscle that he had pulled on a mission, keeping the touch constant. After a few moments, he started to feel some of the tension ease out of Bruce’s body. “Just relax,” he said again in encouragement, keeping his voice quiet.

A small, victorious grin spread on his face when Bruce slowly slumped in the chair, finally relaxing into Clint’s ministrations. The physicist let out a long breath of air as he leaned his head forward.

Clint kept massaging the muscles in Bruce’s shoulders, neck, and upper back (finally cursing the purple shirt for denying him full-on skin contact) until the stiffness began to ebb away. Even then, he kept his hands moving. Bruce wasn’t emitting the same sounds that Clint would be making in the physicist’s place, but he knew the man was enjoying it. There was a tranquil look on Bruce’s face, eyes closed and features relaxed, and his breathing was deep and even.

Another smile crossed Clint’s face, and his eyes slipped shut as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to the back of Bruce’s neck, just below where his hairline ended. He heard the soft hitch in Bruce’s breathing, and he let his hands come to a stop on the man’s shoulders, gently resting his cheek against the small patch of skin between Bruce’s hair and the collar of the shirt.

They spent a second like that, suspended in the moment that included nothing but the two of them. Bruce slowly started to lift and turn his head, moving as if to glance behind him and up at Clint. The archer moved with the physicist until his nose was pushed lightly against Bruce’s cheekbone. Clint pressed another light kiss against the warm skin there.

Clint’s eyes opened when he felt a hand gingerly caress his jaw. He looked down and immediately locked eyes with Bruce, who was staring straight back at him with an expression that was so achingly open it made his heart pound.

They both leaned in together.

The lips that met with Clint’s were soft, so soft, soft like velvet. Even if it was only the corner of Bruce’s mouth, it still felt like nothing else in the world mattered more in that moment than the soft press of his lips against Bruce’s. 

There was a sound of a soft breath, and Bruce tilted his head up to slot their mouths more properly together. The hand caressing Clint’s cheek moved upward into the archer’s hair as Clint melted into the kiss with a blissful sigh. Once he felt the physicist’s fingers gently running over his scalp, his hands couldn’t remain idle any longer. His fingers danced away from Bruce’s shoulders to run down his sides, unable to stay still.

They broke apart for a single second as Bruce twisted in the chair to make the angle less awkward, and their lips immediately found each other’s again. Everything narrowed to his sense of touch, and once a happy sigh managed to escape from Bruce, his sense of hearing. Clint rolled his jaw and let his tongue run across the physicist’s bottom lip. 

Access to Bruce’s mouth was quickly granted with another happy sigh from the scientist, and Clint eagerly deepened the kiss. A feeling of elation went shooting through him when Bruce kissed him back just as eagerly. He relished the warmth and taste of Bruce against him and each patch of skin that Bruce ran his hands over felt overheated. 

Finally, they had to pull apart again for a breath, and they both gasped quietly, filling their lungs with much needed air. They remained frozen like that, lips just barely brushing the other’s, Bruce still sitting in the chair at the table and Clint behind him. When the archer finally opened his eyes again, he found Bruce’s slowly fluttering open.

Their eyes met.

Clint was at a loss of how to break the silence. What do you say to someone after you’ve had your tongue down their throat, when you’ve been kissed senseless, when all you want to do is curl up in their warmth and spend an eternity wrapped together?

“Hey,” he murmured against Bruce’s lips, and then internally cringed because _that_ was the first word out of his mouth.

But Bruce smiled at him, so bright and full it lit up his entire face and crinkled the lines around his deep brown eyes, and Clint was struck by how gorgeous the man was. “Hey,” Bruce replied tenderly. The word practically oozed with happiness.

A smile broke out across Clint’s face, and he lightly dragged his hands away from Bruce’s sides and back up to his shoulders. He gave them a quick squeeze. “Feel better?” he asked softly.

Bruce carefully rolled his shoulders, and a look of pleasant surprise appeared across his features. “Yeah, actually,” he answered. “I feel much better.”

Clint grinned, and then leaned more against the man, allowing his arms to wrap around Bruce’s chest in a backward embrace. “Well, I think we just found something to add to your post-transformation ritual,” he declared, his cheek pressed against Bruce’s.

As if acting on their own accord, Bruce’s hands immediately came up to rest lightly on Clint’s arms. “Does that _something_ entail _everything_ that just happened?” he asked with a smile, and Clint chuckled in response, not bothering to answer verbally. The physicist’s palms were deliciously warm against the archer’s bare arms. Bruce’s fingers traced a light pattern against Clint’s skin, and they remained quiet, just relishing the feel of the other against their body.

After a few minutes had passed in that fashion, Bruce gently patted Clint’s arms. “Your turn,” he said.

Clint immediately grinned. He pulled himself off of Bruce and stood upright, but then leaned in again and pressed a heated kiss to Bruce’s unsuspecting lips. It was a brief kiss, but it still left them both flushed and grinning a little like fools when Clint pulled away again.

The archer quickly moved to the seat next to Bruce. As he sat down, his arms transformed swiftly into his wings, spread open and taking up almost the entire kitchen.

Bruce chuckled softly as he reached for the tea Clint had set down a few minutes ago. “Eager, aren’t we?” he asked after a sip, sending an amused smile the archer’s way.

Clint grinned, not feeling the least bit abashed. “You have _no idea_ how good this feels, man,” he replied.

Bruce hummed and let his fingers slowly begin to run lightly over the feathers on the wing next to him. He smiled more fully as Clint sighed softly and immediately began to relax. “I have some idea,” he rejoined quietly.

**Author's Note:**

> It is one of my hard-wired head canons that Bruce Banner is like a furnace, that the gamma radiation boosted his average body temperature by a few degrees, and is now constantly radiating warmth.
> 
> Not much in the way of wing!fic here, but I wanted something that focused a little more on Bruce.
> 
> I'm really loving this series...I hope you guys are, too. Thanks for reading!


End file.
